


We'll Find a Way Out of This Metaphor

by itachitachi



Category: One Life to Live
Genre: Canon Related, M/M, Make up sex, Metaphors, Porn, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've got some issues to work out. This probably isn't solving any of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Find a Way Out of This Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> This is set directly after Feb. 22 (when Kyle steals Oliver's water bottle to get DNA for the test results). I can't remember if it turned out to be fully compliant with the events that followed.

Kyle's been listening to the water of the shower for too long now. It can't have been more than five minutes since Oliver went in, but Kyle's checked his bag on the couch at least eight times now, making sure that the bottle in its plastic bag is safely at the bottom, where it won't fall out, where Oliver won't find it. He needs it to be inconspicuous; Oliver can't know about what he's doing until Kyle has all the cards again.

He _knows_ he's right about this. He has to be right.

But Kyle has to push it out of his head, too, and so he does. He tamps it down, and instead sits on the bed and waits for the water in the bathroom to stop running. As he waits he stares down at his knees, one of his legs jiggling with the nervous tension he can still feel thrumming through him.

Then, in the bathroom, the shower stops running, and Kyle's breath catches listening to the slow drip of it against the tiles and the faint noise of wet footsteps. He's on his feet at about the time he hears the slight bristly ring of a towel sliding off the metal rack, and waits, antsy, just next to the door.

Oliver emerges a moment later with the towel around his waist. He's saying, "We're staying in, right? Can I borrow a pair of—" but stops when he registers that Kyle is right in front of him, staring intently, and that's when Kyle snaps and grips Oliver tight by the biceps, spinning to pin him against the doorframe.

"What are you—" Oliver says, but he doesn't quite sound angry like Kyle's half-expected, just bewildered, his hands coming up so he can curl his fingers around Kyle's elbows.

"Shh," Kyle said, and leans in to kiss the underside of Oliver's jaw, tongue at the scratch of Oliver's stubble. He keeps kissing, farther and farther, until he's far enough to murmur into Oliver's ear, "You're right. Not tonight, we won't talk about it tonight. Can we do this instead?"

Oliver's head has tipped back against the doorframe and his grip on Kyle's elbows has gone a bit slack. He's panting, and Kyle hears him swallow, hears his jaw working as he tries to form words. He's completely melted into the wall and Kyle takes that as agreement enough, but it's only when Oliver nods shakily and says, "Yeah, yeah, we can—" that Kyle truly feels it, the anticipation shivering down to his bones. He presses in and kisses Oliver hard, runs his hands up Oliver's damp arms, feeling the miles and miles of warm, clean skin.

Oliver's in just a towel, and there's everywhere for Kyle to touch. He pulls away a bit as he strokes his hands down Oliver's chest, letting loose a moan when Oliver chases after his mouth and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. Kyle eyes him coyly after that—Oliver's been picking up some tricks.

Still, Kyle's the master here and he's not about to let Oliver forget it. Slowly, holding Oliver's muddled, flushed gaze with an intent one of his own, Kyle presses his thigh between both of Oliver's, until his knee is up against the doorframe and his hip is up against Oliver's groin, shifting an amount Kyle knows is just shy of enough. Oliver's head cracks back against the frame and he's got his lip caught between his teeth as he clutches at Kyle's shoulders. Kyle smiles and rolls his hip more firmly.

Oliver always looks so _vulnerable_ like this, even after all these years, and Kyle knows to treasure every time he gets to see it. The way Oliver's eyes flutter between closed and looking at Kyle's eyes or his mouth, or the way a pink flush spreads over Oliver's face, down his neck, across the set of his shoulders and chest before working its way downward. Kyle leans in to lick at one of Oliver's rapidly pinking collarbones and receives a stuttered groan in response, Oliver's fingers twisting in the fabric of Kyle's shirt.

Abruptly Kyle wants to see the rest of him, the places where the flush covers and where it doesn't. The skin in front of him isn't enough—he wants it all, he wants Oliver stripped down and helpless before him, and he has to take a moment to consider that he can't _actually_ change Oliver's mind about Certain Issues just by fucking his brains out. Though if he could…

He laughs a little into Oliver's shoulder and pulls their lower halves apart. Oliver groans and murmurs, "Kyle, please," into his hair, trying to pull him back in. It makes Kyle shiver, but he doesn't reply and doesn't move closer. Instead he slides his fingers down, teasing them at Oliver's waist, at the place where his towel is secured, and slips the cloth off even as Oliver scrambles to grab his wrists.

The towel pools at Oliver's feet, but he doesn't let Kyle's hands go. Instead they stare at each other; Kyle's fairly sure his composure remains most of the way intact, but Oliver looks more than a little wrecked, temples damp with what could be lingering moisture from his shower or maybe, by now, a cursory sheen of sweat.

And he's naked now—something that Kyle could hardly fail to notice. He drags his eyes down the rest of Oliver's body, cataloguing the dips and planes of it, the patterns as the bright lights from the bathroom tangle with the dimmer ones from the bedroom and make shadows across Oliver's skin. Oliver shies away as Kyle's gaze sweeps across him, and Kyle watches with fascination as his breath hitches, the skin of his stomach concaving in time.

"That's—you never play _fair_ ," Oliver hisses suddenly, his grip on Kyle's wrists tightening before he's suddenly flipping their positions and shoving Kyle into the wall. Kyle hisses as his shoulderblades scrape the paneling, though he keeps his head clear from a nasty bang, and he tries his hardest not to give away how hard his stomach twists when Oliver pins his wrists to the wall by his sides before kissing him.

It's a deep, hard kiss, harder than anything they've shared since the earliest days in their relationship. Oliver's determined not to lose any ground here. Every nip Kyle manages to his lips is repaid with a hard suck, a stroke along the side of his tongue, everything Oliver knows to make Kyle dizzy with want. And Oliver isn't ducking his head to Kyle's level as he normally is—he's using every inch of his height to his advantage, forcing Kyle to lift his head and bare his neck to meet the kiss. It's exposing, it's thrilling, and Kyle thinks he likes it.

He thinks he really likes it.

He hardly even notices when Oliver lets his wrists go, though he can't miss Oliver's sudden tug to the bottom of his shirt. He raises his arms and obliges the unspoken request—or perhaps it's more of a demand, because the way Oliver strips Kyle's shirt off him leaves Kyle a bit breathless. It's ridiculous.

Less ridiculous is the way Kyle pants when Oliver presses them together, head to toe except for where he's fumbling at the zip of Kyle's jeans. Kyle debates helping for all of two seconds before deciding he would be more hindrance than help, and instead scrapes his nails down Oliver's bare back in a way that makes him hiss and press closer even as he manages to shove Kyle's jeans halfway down his thighs. He doesn't attempt to push them any further, just grips Kyle's hips and lines their cocks up and thrusts, in that deeply instinctive, forceful way that Kyle had almost thought Oliver had forgotten.

It feels horribly, terribly good, and every roll of Oliver's hips makes Kyle cling a little harder and pant a bit more loudly, but his jeans are chafing against his thighs and he wants them off. He gets a hand to the back of Oliver's neck and manages to pull him down, gasping into his ear between strokes, "My shoes—off? I could—my pants—"

He struggles like that for a long moment, as Oliver deliberately grinds very slowly into Kyle's cock, and then gives up, because Oliver's being determined and is obviously having none of it. And it's when he gives up that it really gets good: he can't brace himself with his legs, can't position them well enough with his jeans the way they are, so he lets Oliver crush him into the wall, lets him hold his wrists up by his head without struggling. And from there he has no leverage, is merely supported between two hard places, and can only dig in and take it when Oliver presses them together, grinds them together fast or slow. Kyle can whine and pull at him all he wants but Oliver's taken the pace and Kyle can't get it back now. He _wants_ it back—he wants to flip them onto the ground and fuck Oliver until he begs for mercy—but he can't get it, because Oliver's got him pinned by the wrists, and the hips, and the mouth.

And the heart. And by everything else important, really.

When he finally comes, it happens almost violently, hard enough that it almost feels like it's being torn out of him. He pants helplessly into Oliver's mouth as he goes limp against the wall, and Oliver lets go of his wrists to cradle the sides of his face, letting Kyle breathe through a kiss turned gentle. He doesn't stop thrusting, though, turning his sweaty forehead against Kyle's as he concentrates. He's close, but it still takes too long; Kyle strokes his fingers up the back of Oliver's thighs, digs them into his ass to speed his pace, but he's still feeling painfully overstimulated by the time Oliver sobs into his neck and shudders, going slowly still.

It's easy for Kyle to manhandle him after that. Oliver is pliant after sex, sometimes sleepy and sometimes just staring at Kyle like he's something out of a dream. Tonight it is the latter, and it's only a few light touches before Kyle's got him sunk to sit on the side of the bed, a few steps away.

Oliver slips from sitting to lying easily enough, and Kyle watches him softly as his eyelids flutter. He opens them once and tugs on Kyle's hand. "We can have dinner later," Oliver says, trying to pull him down into a nap.

Kyle would normally smile and agree to this, because he's usually the med student, the one trying to convince Oliver to abandon his regimented schedule so that they can spend more time together between their shifts. But tonight is different; he can't quite make himself lie down.

"I still haven't showered," he says, rubbing his thumb along the back of Oliver's hand. He kicks his shoes off and pushes his way out of his jeans before standing up. "Be back in a few minutes. I'll bring you a towel to clean up when I get out," he says, because they've both got a bit of mess on their stomachs.

But when he goes to move away Oliver's shifted to grab hold of his hand, and he pulls Kyle back toward the bed. "We can shower together later," Oliver murmurs. "I don't care if you're dirty."

Kyle allows himself to be tugged down, though he resists Oliver's efforts to drag him straight into a cuddle. "We'll wake up stuck together," he says, warning. "Unsticking ourselves is gonna hurt. Seriously. You sure you want that?"

"Of course I do," Oliver says, like it's obvious, like he's not even considering that it wouldn't be worth it. This time when he pulls, Kyle goes, helpless to the weary need lined in Oliver's face. He still winces when Oliver rolls to press their sticky stomachs together; clearly it's been far too long since the last time this happened to Oliver, or he wouldn't be so keen on it.

"Sometimes you've gotta do stuff that's going to hurt," Oliver mumbles into Kyle's hair, and slips a hand over Kyle's waist to rub at the small of his back.

Kyle snorts and says, "Yeah, I guess sometimes you do," like he isn't the one who's been trying to tell Oliver that this whole time.

It's too late now, anyway; they're going to be stuck together whether Kyle likes it or not. Oliver grins against his temple when Kyle gives up and presses closer, and Kyle huffs a chuckle and pinches him.

He doesn't mind it so much.


End file.
